


Rivulets

by mardemaravilla



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, FC Chelsea, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-08
Updated: 2013-11-02
Packaged: 2017-11-23 03:50:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/617762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mardemaravilla/pseuds/mardemaravilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He should back away from the door, put his shoes back on and come back again in half an hour and pretend that he didn't accidentally walk in on his best friend masturbating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Turin

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this prompt](http://footballkink2.livejournal.com/9132.html?thread=2443692#t2443692).

Fernando slides his keycard into the lock of the hotel room door, using his weight to swing it open and press it shut once he's inside. The bathroom door is slightly ajar and he can hear the shower running; Juan is here. Fernando rolls his shoulders a bit to release some tension and puts his bag on the ground at the foot of the bed. It's been a long day full of Di Matteo shouting at the team and too many whistles being blown and all Fernando wants is some quiet, so he slips his shoes and socks off, puts his phone on silent and ignores the television in favour of sinking into a chair near the window, waiting for his turn in the bathroom. 

Sitting in the chair, taking deep breaths to help himself unwind, Fernando hears a quiet hiss coming from the bathroom and he tiptoes to the door to make sure Juan is okay. He pushes the door open a bit further and before he can open his mouth to call out to his friend, he hears the hiss transform into a low groan of "Sí". Fernando's eyes widen as he sees the lean, muscular body of his best friend through the glass doors of the shower, eyes closed, right hand wrapped around his length, stroking slowly.

This is wrong. He shouldn't be watching this, he tells himself. He should back away from the door, put his shoes back on and come back again in half an hour and pretend that he didn't accidentally walk in on his best friend masturbating. He should go. He tries to move his feet, but Juan's thumb flicks over the head of his taut erection and he moans softly, his head of dark curls tipping back against the wall, exposing the line of his throat.

Fernando feels his dick twitch. No. _What the hell_ , he asks himself. _What the actual hell_? This is Juan. Juan, whose body he has seen a thousand and one times before- nude and not nude, in the shower and out of the shower- so why the hell are his shorts tightening?

A low mumble escapes from the man in the shower, "Sí, más" and Fernando feels his thighs shake. _What the fuck_ , he asks himself. _What the actual fuck_? He can't stop the way his eyes wander over Juan's body. He thinks that Juan has the most gorgeous eyelashes, thick and dark and quivering. His mouth is partly open, small gasps and moans tumbling past thin, pink lips. Fernando's eyes follow the rivulets of water as they cascade down Juan's chest. His nipples are wet and pert and Fernando has to stifle the groan that wants to escape him when Juan's left hand slides up from his thigh and across his chest, to brush his fingertips over the sensitive points. 

Fernando is so hard. He's so incredibly hard and he doesn't even want to think about it. He can't touch himself. He can't. This is Juan. _Juan_. And Fernando's not-- he has a wife and two kids, of course he's not. It's just been a while, he tells himself. It's been a while since he's had sex or touched himself and that's why the strain in his shorts is maddening. He grips the doorframe as Juan moans a bit louder. Fernando watches Juan's stomach muscles clench, watches him rub his nipples a little harder, watches him maintain that same slow speed on his dick. 

Juan moans softly, "Ay, amor."

Fernando isn't sure where the sudden surge of jealousy comes from that makes him grip the doorframe tighter. Juan is in the shower touching himself and thinking about someone. Fernando's stomach flops, but his erection doesn't go anywhere. Fernando can't think of anyone that Juan is interested in right now. They talk to each other about everything, or at least Fernando talks about everything and assumes Juan does too. There isn't anyone- there _shouldn't_ be anyone that Fernando doesn't know about in his friend's life.

Juan slowly increases the speed on his erection and Fernando can't tear his eyes away from the rosy flesh sliding through Juan's pale fist. His own erection is pulsing and twitching with a life of its own. He can feel how wet he is through his shorts; the slick liquid adhering the fabric to him wherever it can. Juan's small gasps are increasing in frequency. His eyes are still shut tightly, his body is trembling and Fernando knows from the way Juan's hips are jerking that he must be so close.

Fernando's fingers clutch the doorframe impossibly tight, his knuckles whitening and he chews his lip as he watches Juan come with a loud moan that echoes around the bathroom. White streaks splash across the muscles of Juan's stomach and his shoulders relax and Fernando suddenly realises that he'll be caught if he lingers in the doorway any longer. He backs away as quickly and as silently as possible, his knees hitting the back of Juan's bed. He sinks down onto the mattress and draws himself out of his shorts. He knows that he doesn't have long before Juan is out of the shower and walking in on Fernando furiously masturbating on his bed. The thought shoots straight to his dick and in a few strokes he's pressing his blond hair back into the soft white sheets that smell of detergent and sleep and Juan. 

_Juan_.

"Juan," he groans softly as he releases, spilling over his hand and stomach. He hears the shower turn off and Fernando leaps up from the mattress and over to the bag he previously laid at the foot of his own bed. He sheds his soiled shorts, quickly wipes himself off with them and stuffs them into a pocket of his bag. He takes out his long warm-up pants and quickly slides them on. He scrambles for his keycard and his phone and shoves his feet into his shoes and rushes over to the door before Juan can come outside. Fernando opens the door and then closes it loudly, calling out to Juan as calmly as he can.

"Hey Juan, are you here?"

He crosses the floor with quick strides to where his bag lies just as Juan steps out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist.

"Hey, did you just get in?"

Fernando tosses his keycard and phone onto the bed and he motions to the bag at his feet, the shoes he's slipping out of, and he nods. Juan smiles at him and runs a hand through his wet curls. Fernando's heart thuds.

"Are you okay, Fer? You look a bit flushed."

Fernando flops down onto the mattress and covers his face with his hands. He can feel the heat of his skin burning through his palms.

"Fer?"

The mattress dips to accommodate Juan's weight. Fernando feels himself move towards the other man with the shift.

"Do you feel sick?" Juan's face is creased with worry and he presses a hand to Fernando's forehead.

Fernando takes Juan's hand in his own and holds it tight. He looks at his friend; really looks at him. He looks at Juan's eyes, a little confused, but bright and relaxed and happy. He visually traces the firm curves of muscle along his friend's chest. He watches a drop of water roll down into the towel tied at Juan's waist. Fernando thinks of Olalla.

"No."

He doesn't feel sick or wrong or awkward at all.


	2. Seven Months Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been just over seven months since he accidentally walked in on Juan masturbating in a hotel shower. Seven months since Fernando splayed himself across Juan's hotel bed and quietly whispered his friend's name as he brought himself to climax. Seven months since Fernando started feeling as though he's spinning out of control.
> 
>  
> 
> Seven months since he's been able to sleep.

Fernando can't sleep.

It's been just over seven months since he accidentally walked in on Juan masturbating in a hotel shower. Seven months since Fernando splayed himself across Juan's hotel bed and quietly whispered his friend's name as he brought himself to climax. Seven months since Fernando started feeling as though he's spinning out of control.

Seven months since he's been able to sleep.

He tries to forget about it, really he does. Fernando does everything from intense meditation to intense masturbation anytime the images come to mind. Sometimes it helps. Sometimes, when he's on the pitch at training and he catches sight of Juan, with his lower lip between his teeth, he focuses so hard on anything but his fellow Spaniard that the coach takes him aside after they're done and compliments him on his intensity and focus that day. Other times- _most_ times- Fernando trips over the ball and ends up flat on his face at Cobham. It's at those times that he wishes he could just turn into a worm and wriggle between the blades of grass, down into the soft earth and just forget about Juan's beautiful eyelashes and the way he moans when he comes.

Fernando tosses and turns on the mattress, rolling onto his side. It's too dark in the room to see anything; the draperies block out every bit of light, but he can hear Juan's even breathing from the other side of the room and it relaxes him a little. They're in another hotel now, sharing another room. Fernando can't help it; when they're on the bus en route to the hotel and Juan turns to him with his bright blue eyes and says "Do you want to room with me?" he can't help but say yes. What else can he say? He's never been able to say no to Juan, and now that Fernando is aware, he can never turn down the possibility of seeing Juan touch himself again. So he says yes every time, a part of his heart clenching with joy when Juan smiles at him and murmurs a quiet "Gracias, amigo."

 _Amigo_.

Fernando lies on his back again. In Juan's eyes he's still just a friend and Fernando still isn't any closer to figuring out who Juan's mystery 'amor' is. He pokes, pries, snoops, spies, asks and listens to every piece of gossip, but Fernando doesn't know who fuels Juan's lust when he's pumping himself furiously in the shower. Fernando feels his dick twitch. Seven months later and the thought alone is still enough to turn him on. He runs his hands through his hair and sighs; he'll never get to sleep at this rate.

"What's wrong?"

Fernando jumps, not expecting Juan to be up.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

Fernando can hear the quiet rustle of sheets in the darkness.

"It's okay, I wasn't asleep. Now tell me what's wrong; you've been sighing non-stop for the past half hour."

"I...I can't sleep."

Juan hums thoughtfully, "Any other symptoms?"

Fernando can picture the grin on Juan's face, shy but cheeky and he blindly tosses a small pillow across the dark room. He hears a light smack and Juan's quiet laughter and he thinks that this is how it should be always; the two of them, happy. Except Fernando's not as happy as he should be because he's kind of crazy about this man lying in a bed a few feet away from him and he doesn't know what to do about that.

"You hit me in the leg, silly," Juan whispers in the dark. "But really, tell me what's going on."

"What's going on with you?" Fernando blurts out. It must be the darkness, he thinks. It must be the cover of darkness in their quiet hotel room that is giving impossibly shy Fernando the courage to ask questions he needs to ask.

"Me? What do you mean?"

"Are you seeing someone?" Fernando has to make a concerted effort not to let his jealousy seep through his words.

" _¿Qué?_ No, of course not. But if I was, you know I would tell you first."

Fernando's heart throbs. He knows it, but it still doesn't explain why he lies awake at night with Juan's breathless cry of _'Amor'_ sometimes echoing inside of his head. The unknown has greater power than the known, Fernando thinks bitterly.

"Well, are you interested in anyone right now?"

There is confusion in Juan's voice, "Fer, what are you saying? Why are you asking these things?"

Juan's not answering the question, Fernando realises, and his heart is beginning to ache.

"Oh, just gossip. You know, things people say."

"What are they saying?" Juan's voice is soft and maybe a little hesitant, Fernando thinks.

"That you care for someone," Fernando remains vague.

Juan is silent for a bit before responding, "I care about a lot of people...but I guess they mean romantically, right?" Juan pauses again and Fernando's heartbeat is deafening in his ears. "Well, it's...I don't know. You know how there are people that you like from afar? Because they're taken or not interested or whatever? Like with celebrities. You really like them, but you know nothing is ever going to happen. I guess it's like that."

"Oh," Fernando says. Oh. A celebrity? Shakira maybe? Most of the Spanish squad is jealous of Piqué, so it makes sense. Fernando asks and Juan chuckles,

"She's ten years older than me, Fer, no way. But she is very beautiful though; I see the attraction."

And even though Juan says no, the jealousy in Fernando's chest still smoulders. He tells himself that he is being unreasonable. Olalla makes pouty faces at him sometimes and asks (only half-jokingly) if he thinks Shakira is prettier in person than on TV. This must be what his wife feels like.

But Fernando isn't Juan's wife, so no; his jealously is totally unreasonable.

"Why all the questions?"

"Just curious, I guess."

It's silent for a while in the darkness before Juan speaks up again, "You've been acting weird lately. Won't you talk to me about it?"

Fernando stares into the darkness. He doesn't know how to talk about it. It's not as if he's ashamed or embarrassed by his feelings; Juan is beautiful and incredible and Fernando thinks that the whole world should be in love with this man, so no, he's not embarrassed at all. He's just afraid. He's unsure about what these feelings mean and how deep they run and how to reconcile these feelings for Juan with the rest of his life- especially Olalla. Is it considered cheating; wanting to be with your best friend? Fernando doesn't think of himself as a cheater, so how is he supposed to sort this all out?

"It's complicated." Complicated as fuck, Fernando thinks.

"You don't want to tell me?" Juan's voice is quiet and steady in the unlit hotel room, but Fernando can hear hurt in his voice that he feels responsible for. He's shutting Juan out, he realises. He's being cowardly, he decides. He's Fernando Torres, he tells himself, and he should be able to do this. His hands shake.

"I think I might have feelings for someone." The words are out before he's aware of them and Fernando rolls his eyes in the dark room. _Someone_. He thinks that he could spell it out in neon lights and it would be less ridiculous.

"Oh. Oh…Fer...I…I had no idea. Is that why you've been acting so strange? Are you and this person getting serious? Does Olalla know?"

Fernando frowns at the trench of lies he's begun to dig himself into. This is starting to play out like one of those silly online stories Sergio likes to read about the team.

"Juan," Fernando thinks it's now or never, " _Es tú_."

There is a long silence and Fernando is tempted to think that Juan is asleep, but he knows better.

"Don't play these kinds of games, Fernando, they're not funny," Juan's voice is sharper than Fernando expects it to be and he can't help but wince. He's said it though. It's out there now and Fernando thinks that he'll go to any lengths to make Juan believe.

"It's you, Juan. Really. It is. I...I saw you in the shower some months ago. I haven't been able to think about anything but you for a long time."

"The shower? So you just want to sleep with me?" Juan's voice has an edge to it. Fernando feels like he's making this worse.

"No, _por favor_. It's more than that. I just realised it then, but it's everything about you, Juan. I like you."

It's silent now and Fernando's brain and heart and stomach are spinning faster than he is comfortable with. His knees are shaking beneath his bed sheets and Fernando is too shy for these kinds of things and Juan isn't talking or moving or doing anything. Fernando thinks he's going to retire from football and crawl into a hole for the rest of his life. 

The sound of Juan's sheets rustling fills the silence and then stops abruptly. Fernando is startled by the dip at the edge of his mattress that signals to him that Juan is there.

Juan is here.

And he quietly mumbles, "Don't lie to me, Fer, because I really like you too."

And the spinning stops so fast that Fernando thinks that he's died.

" _¿Qué?_ "

"I really like you, so you'd better not be making fun of me."

Fernando sits up in bed, blindly reaching out towards Juan in the dark. He aims for a handful of Juan's shirt, to draw him in close for a hug, but finds that Juan isn't wearing a shirt, and rather, Fernando's fingers are cascading over Juan's bare chest, his nipples smooth and soft and ohmyGod.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't realise-I can't see a thing."

Fernando moves to pull his hands away from Juan's warm skin, but Juan stops him and Fernando's head is spinning again.

"This is why you've been acting different?" Juan is holding Fernando's hand against his chest.

"Yes," is Fernando's breathless reply, and he feels the thump-thump of Juan's heartbeat quicken beneath his palm.

"Okay," Juan murmurs and Fernando can feel the weight shift on his mattress and Juan's hands on his face and- oh.

Juan's lips are soft and warm and moist and comforting against Fernando's. He tastes like toothpaste and mouthwash, Fernando thinks, and he can't help but kiss Juan deeper. The scratch of beard on Fernando's face is a strange but welcome feeling.

Fernando allows his hands to slide from Juan's chest down to grip his waist. They're kissing. _Kissing_. And Fernando almost feels like this is some sort of amazing dream until Juan pulls away from the kiss and whispers against Fernando's mouth,

"Fer, turn on the light. Let me see you."

His knees are shaking beneath the sheets again. What if the courage wears off, Fernando wonders, and he's reduced to a stupidly staring idiot?

"Fer, _por favor_."

Juan's hands are still on Fernando's face when the lights come on. When his eyes have adjusted, he refuses to breathe for a moment, fearful that it will disrupt the expression of perfect joy on Juan's face. His smile is hesitant, almost as if he's afraid Fernando will change his mind now that everything is illuminated, but his eyes are bright and glowing and Fernando wonders why it's taken him so long to realise how amazing this man is.

"Juan, you said…you said there's someone…" Fernando is breathless from these kisses, but he just needs to be sure. "Is it me?"

Juan smiles and Fernando loves the way his blue eyes glow in hotel lamplight, "You're the only one, Fer. You've been the only one for a long time."

Fernando imagines standing in a hotel bathroom doorway watching Juan touch himself and instead of _‘amor'_ , it's his own name tumbling out of that blessed mouth.

"Juan…" Fernando kisses him again, burying his hands into the soft curls of Juan's hair.

It's beautiful and wonderful and so much more than he ever dreamed, and Fernando tries not to feel too embarrassed when Juan turns his head aside and yawns into his fist.

" _Perdón_ ," he blushes.

"I hope that doesn't mean I'm horrible at kissing," Fernando laughs nervously.

He's never kissed anyone but Olalla in his whole life and it feels both weird and perfect to be here in this bed, making out with Juan.

Juan shakes his head and runs his thumb along Fernando's jaw, "Take my word on it, you're not horrible at all." He leans in and kisses Fernando more before another yawn forces its way out. "I'm just tired from travelling and training, that's all. Maybe…maybe I could sleep here with you?" Juan's blue eyes are shy and hopeful and Fernando draws Juan in for another kiss.

When Fernando turns the light off, he still has difficulty falling asleep, although it's not at all for the same reason as before.

 

There's a beeping coming from the nightstand and Fernando groans unhappily, wishing it would just go away. He feels a stirring at his side and the sound shuts off and he suddenly remembers that he's not alone in bed. He opens his eyes and when he rolls over, Juan is yawning and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Fernando combs his fingers through an unruly curl, "Good morning."

Juan smiles and returns the greeting with a warm, sleepy kiss. They lie together like that, making out and wrapped up in each other's embrace until Juan stops and looks at Fernando curiously.

"What is it?"

"I'm just thinking…"

"About me, I hope." Fernando's confidence takes him by surprise and he wonders if it's a side-effect of kissing the beauty lying next to him in bed.

Juan bites his lip and smiles, " _Claro_. I was wondering what you meant when you said you saw me in the shower. You always see me in the shower after training, so what happened that made you realise you felt something for me?"

Fernando blushes and stutters, but he explains how he accidentally walked in on Juan masturbating in the shower of their hotel room in Turin seven months ago, and although he should have, he didn't tear his eyes away.

"I didn't mean to intrude on you like that, but I couldn't help myself. You were gorgeous—not that you still aren't, but I really couldn't stop myself. I watched you until you were finished and then I got myself off on your bed. Then I pretended I had just gotten back to the room when you came out of the shower."

"You watched me come and then you touched yourself?" Juan asks and Fernando blushes even more. 

"I know, I'm sorry. I really didn't intend—"

Juan cuts him off with a slow kiss and shifts beneath the covers. He slides into Fernando's lap, thighs straddling the striker's hips.

"Don't apologise," he murmurs. "I like it. It's hot. I want you to watch me again."

Fernando can't suppress the groan that tumbles out of his mouth. He feels warmth blossoming over his skin and a warm hand slides beneath Fernando's t-shirt and moves along his ribs. Juan leans in for another slow kiss and Fernando feels his dick firming beneath the sheets.

Juan shifts in his lap and Fernando realises with a throb of excitement that the blue-eyed man is shedding his underwear and moving knees and limbs to pull Fernando's own off as well. Fernando strips out of his t-shirt and runs his fingers across Juan's shoulders and down his chest. _This is happening_ , his brain screams and Juan sits back on Fernando's thighs and moans softly as he strokes himself for the striker.

Fernando can't breathe. He can't breathe and he can't think. All he can do is stare at Juan's beautiful body once more as he masturbates. Juan's hips roll gently and Fernando reaches out to hold them, guiding them as they undulate over his thighs.

Juan smears the clear, sticky liquid gathered at his tip down his shaft and pumps himself slowly. Fernando's eyes widen with awe and lust. If he thought Juan was beautiful in the shower, seeing him close up like this, fuck, _like this_ , makes Fernando dizzy with desire. He slides one hand down from Juan's hip to stroke his thigh, matching the movements of the younger man's hand on his own length.

Juan tips his head back and a quiet moan escapes him as his brushes his free hand over his nipples. Fernando remembers this; he remembers all of the things that Juan likes to do to himself, and the striker's body quivers with longing to touch Juan the way he's only dreamed about for the past seven months.

Still, he wants to watch too.

He settles on running his hands along the insides of Juan's thighs, watching the way the strong muscles twitch and jump beneath his touch. He listens to the quiet noises Juan makes as the ruddy head of his erection slides through his fist. Fernando's fingertips brush against the inner crease of Juan's thighs and the younger man's hips roll forward instinctively. 

Juan strokes himself steadily even as he lowers his head to kiss Fernando. 

Juan grinds his hips down onto Fernando's thighs and the striker's erection bobs up in response, slick, solid members brushing against each other. Fernando moans aloud and rocks into the contact.

"Juan, please. Will you…please?"

Juan's fingers wrap around the shaft of Fernando's dick and he shifts closer so that he can close his fist around both of their erections. Juan's length is silky smooth and unfathomably hot next to Fernando's own and the striker finds it difficult to maintain a coherent thought process as Juan slides them both through his fist. He groans and gasps and Juan bends his head to kiss him, grunting quietly into Fernando's mouth too.

Fernando moves his hand down to cover Juan's own and he increases the speed of their hands around their erections. Juan moans against the shell of Fernando's ear and the striker can't bear the desire burning through his skin.

He takes hold of Juan's erection alone and replicates the touch that he remembers vividly from a hotel shower stall in Turin. He keeps his grip firm and his strokes slow until Juan is groaning unabashedly and whispering insistently for more. Fernando increases the speed of his hand and Juan tilts his hips forward so that their erections can press together once more. Fernando strokes them both off in one fist and raises his other hand to circle the peaks of Juan's nipples. The smaller man moans aloud and clutches at Fernando's shoulders.

"Fer," Juan says through gritted teeth. "I'm so close."

His hips roll into the strokes of Fernando's hand and the striker just wants a little bit more before both of them tumble off of the edge. He leans in and licks a slow stripe across one of Juan's nipples. Juan gasps aloud and tugs at Fernando's hair as his body tenses in a curve, taut with muscle. He spills over Fernando's fist and shaft and Fernando groans against the firm swell of Juan's chest. The added slickness aids the slide of his palm along his length and soon he's trembling with orgasm too.

Juan presses Fernando down onto the mattress with a warm, lazy kiss and they lie like that for a while, breathless and light-headed. On the other side of the room Juan's alarm goes off, slowly increasing in volume and Fernando grumbles unhappily once again. Juan kisses Fernando gently before getting out of bed to turn it off.

"I think we should skip training today," Fernando suggests tiredly.

Juan laughs before he chews his lower lip, both shy and seductive.

"Maybe," he says. "Or, I was thinking we could finally live out that shower fantasy of mine. You know, the one you enjoyed watching all those months ago?"

Juan disappears into the bathroom and Fernando scrambles out of bed, close behind.


End file.
